_The Northern Light_
Who drapes that mystic veil across that everbrooding sky? Who hues it with a soul of pearl? Who draws it to and fro? Who breathes upon it with the breath that makes it glow and die, Lighting that crystal river, those mountains cowl'd with snow?
Beneath the snow the mosses sleep
Amid the forest's silence;
Above, the stately birches keep
The spruce trees dream of summer hours
And birds that carrolled sweetly,
Of gentle winds and smiling flowers
That died too quickly.
Tell me, tell me, gentle stars,
Ever watchful, ever bright,
From your stations in the sky
Do you see my love to-night?
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